


let me photograph you in this light

by justkisa



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>future AU, in David's last season at City they win the FA cup</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me photograph you in this light

In David’s last season at City, they win the FA cup. 

During the melee of celebration after the game, Joe grabs him and Vinnie and drags them over to the cup. They take pictures, passing their phones off in turn to the photographer who’d replaced Sharon, a skinny, serious, artsy bloke who Joe’s not sure he’s ever seen smile. 

Joe and Vinnie squish David between them. David grumbles a little but he smiles while he does it. They all smile and hold up two fingers as the photographer takes the pictures. (They’d done something similar when they’d won their third title. There’d been more people in the picture then.)

Joe doesn’t know then that it’ll be David’s last season. He jostles David after the pictures are done and says, “Next season, it’ll be the title, yeah? And we’ll be like this,” and holds up four fingers. David smiles and leans into Joe’s side. At the time, Joe takes that for agreement.

***

Joe hears about David’s transfer on the news. He’s sitting on the floor, doing a puzzle with Harlow, the noise of the TV a low hum in the background. He looks up and catches a glimpse of David’s face, him smiling above the sky blue of last season’s home jersey. The word transfer is splashed across the bottom of the screen. He reaches back and fumbles around on the couch for the remote. It’s stuck between the cushions along with a toy car and a stray biscuit. He shakes off the biscuit crumbs and turns up the volume.

The presenter’s talking about the details of the transfer. David’s going to Las Palmas. Joe doesn’t keep up with football the way some of the guys he knows do. But he knows that club. David’s going home. 

He keeps staring at the TV after the presenter’s moved on to other things. Then Harlow pulls on his shirt, fussing at Joe’s lack of attention. Joe switches off the TV. It takes a moment, the button’s sticky with something, probably juice, and he has to hit it a few times. 

He helps Harlow finish the puzzle, though, afterwards, he couldn’t have told you what the picture on it was. 

He texts David later, _you really leaving?_ , because sometimes the news is full of shit. 

David doesn’t text him back. 

But it turns out, this time, the news isn’t full of shit.

***

David calls him maybe a week after Joe’d texted him.

Joe can count on one hand the times David’s actually called him. 

It’s not the best moment for a call. Harlow’s just spilled juice all over his lunch. Joe’s frantically trying to mop it up and answer his phone at the same time. The first thing he says when he finally manages to answer isn’t even to David. “Kim,” he calls, “Can you come here? Harlow’s spilled juice everywhere and David’s on the phone.” 

She comes and takes over mopping up. She shoos him out of the kitchen with the sopping wet towel. 

“Sorry,” Joe says into the phone, slipping out of the kitchen, “Harlow just spilled juice all over. Total disaster.” 

David laughs a little. “Is all right.” Even after all these years his English is slow and hesitant, his accent so thick Joe still can’t quite understand him sometimes. 

“So,” Joe says while he vainly tries to dry off his juice-sticky hand on his jeans, “you’re, uh, you’re really leaving?”

“Yes,” David says and then nothing. 

The silence stretches and stretches. Joe doesn’t know what to say. He and David are close in the way people who share a history are close. The things they’ve won (and lost), all the time they’ve spent in the same places, they tie them together. But, even after all these years, Joe’s not sure they’re really friends. And he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe the thing to say is _good-bye_ or _good luck_ but neither one feels right, feels like _enough_. So Joe waits. After all, David called him.

“I am,” David says finally, voice soft and low, “Tired, Joe, and I—“ He pauses then continues, “Hurt, always, Joe, I—“ 

He means his ankle, well, ankles now. Joe’s watched him play through the pain more times than he can count. David’s one of the toughest people Joe’s ever played with for all that he still looks like a stiff breeze might knock him flat. But he’s paid a price for that toughness, that grit your teeth and keep on playing determination. Joe’s starting to pay the same price, can feel his body starting to break down on him. But David’s broke down long ago and he’s been holding it together with ice and tape and painkiller injections for too long. 

“So,” David says, “I am…” He stops like he can’t bring himself to say what comes next.

“Going home,” Joe says.

“Yes,” David says.

Joe smiles a little. “Going to sit on the beach, play a little football, finally learn to golf.”

David laughs. “No golf.”

“You’re missing out,” Joe says, thinking of that long ago visit to the bright, sunny island David calls home, “You guys have some sweet courses out there.”

David laughs some more. “Of course, yes, you come here, show me how, maybe I…” he says like Joe hasn’t offered to teach him how to play a thousand times and David hasn’t turned him down every time. 

“Sure,” Joe says, “Okay,” and knows he never will.

“I,” David says, and he’s not laughing anymore, his voice’s gone quiet and serious, “Joe, I will miss you.”

“Me too,” Joe says, his voice gone a little hoarse, “Uh, I mean, you know…”

David laughs. “I know,” he says.

“Uh,” Joe says, “So good luck, you know, call some time, let me know how it’s going on the beach and all.”

“Yes,” David says, “Okay,” like he actually will, like this isn’t goodbye. “Good luck to you as well and City, you will, ah, win more, yes? Okay, Joe?”

Joe smiles a little. “Yeah,” he says, “Maybe. The kids are pretty good, aren’t they?” Though, calling some of them kids is a bit of a stretch nowadays. 

“Yes,” David says, “They are. You will be fine.” He pauses then says, “Goodbye, Joe.”

It sounds so final and Joe can’t get his answer out right away. And when he does get it out, when he says, “Goodbye, David,” David’s already hung up. 

Joe stands there for a while, holding his phone up to his ear, until Kim peeks out of the kitchen and says, “So, lunch?”

“I, uh…” Joe drops his hand to his side. “Sure.”

“You okay?” she says.

Joe shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, “Sure.” And she knows him well enough to know it’s bullshit and well enough not to say that it’s bullshit.

“Okay,” she says, “lunch?” and holds out her hand. 

He goes and takes her hand. And, if he squeezes it a bit too tightly, well, she doesn’t complain.

***

A few days later, he’s going through his phone, looking for something else, and he finds the picture of him, David, Vinnie, and the cup. He stares at it for a long moment. And thinks about how much he wanted to take the next one, the one he’d teased David about, because winning things is something him and David and Vinnie do _together_.

Did together.

He puts his phone down. Then picks it up and calls Vinnie.

It takes Vinnie a long time to answer, so long Joe’s sure he’s going to get his voicemail. But then Vinnie answers. “Hey, Harty. What’s going on?” 

Joe can hear the chatter of kids’ voices in the background and something that might be water splashing. “Oh, you know,” Joe says.

They chat for awhile about their kids, their wives, what they’ve been doing on their break. “So,” Joe says, as their conversation’s dwindling down, “David’s left, huh?” 

Vinnie’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “That’s football, Joe.” 

And Joe _knows_ that. He doesn’t know what he wanted Vinnie to say but it wasn’t that.

“Yeah,” he says, “Sure. Look, I’ve, just, I’ve got to go.”

“Joe,” Vinnie says, “Hey, look, I have to—“ 

Joe hangs up on him mid-sentence. 

Vinnie calls him right after he hangs up. He doesn’t answer. 

Vinnie calls again the next day but Joe doesn’t pick up then either.

***

When Joe first hears the rumors about Vinnie, he doesn’t pay a lot of attention. There are always rumors.

But these rumors don’t go away. And, just before they’re due to report back for pre-season, Vinnie’s gone too. Transferred to a club in Italy. 

Joe writes and deletes a dozen texts before sending, _italy, huh?_.

Vinnie calls him a few days later. “I tried to tell you,” he says, before Joe can even say hello. 

“Right,” Joe says, “Yeah.” 

“Joe,” Vinnie says and sighs, that I’m-so-disappointed-in-you, captainly sigh he’s perfected over the years, but Vinnie isn’t Joe’s captain any more and it doesn’t matter if he’s disappointed in him. Except, maybe, it does. 

Joe takes a slow, deep breath. “So,” he says, “Italy? What you don’t speak enough languages already, gotta go add Italian to the list?” 

Vinnie laughs a little. “Why not?” 

Joe smiles. “Yeah, well, good luck.” 

“With the Italian?” Vinnie says.

“Sure,” Joe says, “And, you know, everything else.” 

“Thanks,” Vinnie says, he pauses then adds, “Take good care of our team, yeah?” 

And some part of Joe wants to snap it’s not _ours_ , not _yours_ , not anymore. “Sure,” he says instead, “Of course.” 

“See you around, Joe,” Vinnie says.

“Yeah,” Joe says, “Okay,” and hangs up while Vinnie’s saying goodbye, because he’s had enough of goodbyes for now.

***

They make Joe captain.

Guardiola takes him aside toward the end of pre-season and tells him they didn’t even talk about giving it to anyone else. 

It’d taken Joe awhile to get used to Guardiola. Or, maybe, it’s more accurate to say it took awhile for them to get used to each other. But Joe believes him when he grasps Joe’s shoulder, holds on a little too tight, gets a little too close, and tells him that Joe’s his only choice to succeed Vinnie as captain. 

He texts Vinnie, _they gave me your old job_.

It takes a few days but Vinnie sends back, _of course they did_ , then, _don’t screw it up_ and Joe laughs because that’s just like Vinnie.

***

Joe didn’t think it’d be a big deal, putting the armband on before their first real game of the season, but he finds himself staring at it instead of putting it on. He’s worn it before. Worn it all through pre-season. Worn it a lot over the last few seasons, with Yaya gone and Vinnie forever struggling with injuries. But this feels different.

His phone buzzes. He looks away from the armband and picks up his phone. It’s a text. From David. It just says _good luck_. 

It’s the first time David’s texted him since he hung up on Joe’s goodbye. Joe smiles down at his phone. _thanks mate_ he sends back _hope you’re doing okay_. 

“Good message?” Manu says. 

Joe looks up. Manu smiles at him. He’d grown his hair out during the break and, sometimes during pre-season, when Joe’d seen him high up the pitch, he’d think, just for second, that it was David up there playing. “Yeah,” Joe says, “S’from David.”

“Oh,” Manu says, “Yeah?” 

Joe smiles and claps Manu’s shoulder. “He said good luck.” 

“Yeah?” Manu says.

“Yeah,” Joe says, “Now go put your boots on, eh, kid, we’ve got a game to win.” 

Manu smiles. “Yes, captain,” he says. He gives Joe a sloppy salute then bounds back over to his spot. Joe wonders whatever happened to the kid who was too shy to look Joe in the eye half the time.

His phone buzzes again. He picks it up. David’s texted him back. No words just a picture of beach on a sunny day. Joe smiles down at the picture for a moment. Good for David. He doesn’t send a reply. There’s nothing left to say. Not right now.

He tucks his phone away then picks up the armband. He turns it over a few times, runs his fingers along the word _captain_. Then he slips it on, makes his way towards the tunnel, and gets ready to lead his team out into the Manchester rain.


End file.
